


A Journey Across Azeroth

by kdweaver



Category: Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Patch 3.3: Revenge of the Horde, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdweaver/pseuds/kdweaver
Summary: Magister Tarvus Aelissar of Silvermoon has decided to undertake a voyage across Azeroth in an attempt to find a new way for his people to meet or overcome their need for magic power in the aftermath of the Sunwell's destruction. In the course of his journey, he travels across many varied lands and meets a variety of characters. This document is the record of his experiences in this voyage.(Areas/descriptions based off WoW 3.3.5a)





	1. Chapter 1

_Journal of Tarvus Aelissar_  
Magister of Silvermoon  
11 Days Prior to Departure 

* * *

After my 'outburst' during the last Magisters' Council, Tal'voren suggested that if I truly believe that the "festering wreck of a world outside our own domain" holds knowledge crucial to our future survival, then I should "direct myself to the next departing ship, and in doing so leave behind the more peaceful domain [I] wish to create."

I know nothing would please the bastard more than me actually following his 'gracious advice,' and leaving Silvermoon to personally carry out the survey I've proposed so many times. But despite this, every night I find myself growing more certain that doing so is the right choice. This is just the most recent (and egregious) incident in which it's been made clear to me that there is no space for my ideas, for alternative strategies. It seems that our capacity for rational debate and interest in just rule ended alongside the Sunwell.

The memories of that night still lie strong and raw within my mind, and seem to surface amongst my dreams every other night. I recall marching alongside Prince Kael'Thas himself, as we solemnly set out to destroy the corrupted wellspring of our people's power. I recall the nausea, the rotting taste in my mouth as we approached its tainted waters, and the dizziness which confounded us all as we grew nearer. I recall the casting process, the exertions and incantations as we worked to unwind the woven leylines which formed the Sunwell, before the terrible corruption which had entered it spread through its ties across all of Quel'Thalas, ending what remained of us and our lands.

And then, I remember the breaking - the moment when our efforts came to fruition. There was a sense as though a dam under our feet had erupted, sending forth a waves of darkness, waves of light - tempests of pure energy which burnt and twisted, reshaping the very nature of the living world under or feet. The convergence - the center - that had been the Sunwell was gone. The taste of death on my tongue had left with it, at first I sighed with relief and collapsed to my knees, exhausted. But, as I sat and waited for my breath to return to me, it never fully did. There was a hunger, a lack, lodged in the center of my chest: hungry, gnawing, festering. We all looked at one another, then, and slowly began to realize how completely we had come to depend on the omnipresent arcane energy provided by the Sunwell.

It has been months since then, and for all of us who felt the emergence of that hunger, for all high elves using magic, we have had to find alternative means of sating that need. There are mana crystals, and there are other - weaker - sources of natural arcane energy than the Sunwell. But these resources are limited, and our demand far outstrips the supply these sources can provide.

And then, there are... other methods. All living creatures contain some amount of mana, and less scrupulous members of society have turned to darker methods to fulfill their needs. Some propose courses of action which are not worth the breath used to speak them, much less writing down. These people would damn us all, and twist us into creatures just as evil as the plague lords who swept through our land.

Prince Kael'Thas has left us on a mission to free us of this dilemma, and find a new source of power for us. His destination was the unknown domain of Outland, the shattered world which abuts our realm on the far side of the Dark Portal. As every citizen, I trust in our Prince to guide us as he always has. However, his absence from us grows ever longer with no word of progress, and our peoples' needs continue to grow as well. I believe that it is prudent at this point to search for alternate solutions: not only in Outland, but in Azeroth.

The world outside our fair realm of Quel'Thalas is enormous, ancient, and holds just as many secrets as our homeland: those who refuse this truth have spent far too long inside our borders. And now, as the world has broken inside of them, it is time to look outward. It is time to venture forth once more and see what troubles and opportunities lie forgotten on distant shores. Somewhere in that great expanse, the secret to fulfilling our peoples' needs in a just manner may exist. Even if this chance is slim, I feel that it is one which must be pursued. The manner in which we respond to this crisis will determine who are are as a people, and forge a new identity for us as we recover and re-form our society.

It is with this feeling that I now begin to set out across the world, searching for new sources of magic and methods of accessing it. I do not know how long this journey will take, or if it will meet any success. I only know for certain that I feel it is absolutely necessary to undertake.


	2. Making Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One cannot simply leave the house and decide to set out on a journey across Azeroth; preparations must be made.

7 Days Prior to Departure  
Silvermoon City

After making a few inquiries, I have made up my mind: I will begin my journey in a week, travelling with a group of Farstriders leaving from Fairbreeze Village. From there, we will travel south, into the Plaguelands - the ruins of Lordaeron's eastern reaches. The group will escort me as far as Light's Hope Chapel, the base of operations for the Argent Dawn in the Plaguelands. While it is true that due to their valiant efforts, the number of undead freely roaming the Plaguelands has been greatly diminished, it would still be the height of foolishness for me to travel the rest of the way to the Undercity on my own. With luck, I may be able to offer some assistance to them in exchange for an escort from Light's Hope Chapel to the Undercity.

In any case, I have rapidly begun to secure provisions and make arrangements for a long journey before I set out. The regent Lor'themar Theron has agreed to issue me a "provisional ambassadorial license," so that I might pass through territories which might otherwise be closed to a common traveler during this time of heightened tensions. Afterwards, I met with Aerissor, who readily agreed to occupy and take care of my apartments during the time in which I will be absent - not a surprising turn of events, given his cramped living situation since his own abode in western Silvermoon was destroyed in the course of the war. In any case, it is a weight off my mind to know a friend who knows how to properly take care of houseplants will be nurturing my own little family of them while I am gone. Beyond that, I have also collected the various physical sundries required for travel: reagents for spells, provisions to supplement the food which I can summon, small bolts of cloth to repair clothing, and my staff and dagger.

Lastly, I will require a steed to assist my own two feet in their ability to carry me and my belongings across the land. Tomorrow, I will go to the stables to purchase a Hawkstrider. I have not owned or even ridden one for a long while, now; I hope I do not find the knack of riding has left me just as I have need of it.

6 Days

Thuron's Livery lies a short distance outside the southern gate of Silvermoon; they have bred the highest-quality Hawkstriders for generations, and on this occasion I am not tempted to spare any expense on the quality of my mount. I walked the distance from the city with a heavy purse full of coin at my side, prepared for (but still slightly dreading) the purchase I was about to make.

Currently, the Livery is mainly run by two elves: Winaestra and Perascamin. Winaestra is extremely familiar with each beast under her care, and acquainted me with each one currently for sale. At first, I noted she focused on showing me beasts of exquisite elegance, creatures of striking color and poise. As beautiful as they were, it was easier to imagine them walking through the fields of a countryside estate rather than striding down a road into the Plaguelands.

At that point, I informed her of my journey's details, and that I would be travelling with a group of Farstriders southward. She raised a single eyebrow a fraction of an inch, and then nodded. We moved to a different section of the stables, and she began showing me a different group of Hawkstriders - beasts which were "lesser in elegance, perhaps, but strong of heart."

These Hawkstriders had a different air - they did not strut about or peck at themselves idly, but sat quietly, resting on the ground in a group and staring at me with steady, determined gazes. Their plumes were short, and their colors were simple. One, in particular, stood out to me: it was jet black, but with a subtle sheen to its feathers that reflected shades of purple when sunlight slanted through the trees and hit its feathers. I was suddenly enamored with the creature, I must admit.

Winaestra noted this with a smile. A few minutes later, I was mounted on its back and we were running smoothly along the road. I felt a smile on my lips, and knew I'd found my first travelling companion for my voyage. I've since named her _Ialore_ , as she's a mount as beautiful as an eclipse. I plan on taking her farther out over the next few days, as I say my goodbyes across Quel'Thalas and re-acquaint myself with the skills of riding and camping.


	3. Quel'Thalas: The Azurebreeze Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road has many challenges which one can forget after living comfortably for a long time; a short journey can help re-acquaint one with the many charms of travel.

5 Days  
Silvermoon City, Azurebreeze Shore

Over the next few days which remain to me before I depart the realm of Quel'Thalas, I plan to reacquaint myself with the rigors of travel. It has been a long time since I have spent an entire day riding, slept out of doors, or used defensive magic regularly. Before I journey into dangerous territory, I must first reacquaint myself with these skills.

And thus, having fully prepared the baggage which I plan to take on my journey, I will first set out on a short tour of Quel'Thalas. This morning, I shall ride east to the Azurebreeze coast, practice defensive magic, and stay the night in a tent. The next day, I will continue on, and journey the breadth of Quel'Thalas to see the western coast. If all goes well, I hope that the practice of this small journey will settle my nerves about the larger, more ambitious one which lies ahead.

Today's journey begins, as many do, from the front steps of my own apartments. These broad steps lead down to the thoroughfare which runs through the Royal Exchange. I consider myself blessed to call this section of Silvermoon my home; upon exiting my apartments, I am first greeted by the sight of the Exchange's garden, a beautifully cultivated plot of green, from which grows a copse of ancient trees, a small fountain splashing away between the trunks. The Exchange is busy during the day, filled with the calm, steady noise of people about their business at the bank or auction houses, but at night there is only the sound of the fountain's splashing and the meow of neighborhood cats.

Following the thoroughfare south, out of the Exchange, one passes the Walk of Elders to reach the southern gate. From here, the physical damage which was done to Silvermoon city itself is still not visible, but one begins to note the more irreparable damage done to its citizenry. The Walk used to be lined with carts of merchants, serving throngs of people: visitors, entering and departing the city from Eversong forest and parts beyond, idle citydwellers, coming to browse wares and to see and be seen, and all other sorts of people between the two. Now, on most days it is vacant but for a handful of guards, a lone vendor or two, and the sweeping of an enchanted broom. I hurry on my way and pass the Walk of Elders quickly, before I begin to see the ghosts of people I knew.

The Shepard's Gate is the southern entrance to Silvermoon, and currently its main functioning gate; I now pass through it every time I leave and enter the city. The gate lets out over a small bridge into Eversong Forest, and after passing over it, one immediately feels as though they have re-entered the wilderness. The road weaves under the boughs of ancient trees, their limbs reaching far up to create a thick canopy of leaves which filter the sunlight, leaving the ground cool and making space for the soft, short grasses which grow there. It is an ideal place to spend an afternoon flipping through the pages of a book, or to spend with an acquaintance and a picnic basket. But today, my goal is different, and so I nudged Ialore forward with my knees, and we set down the road eastward towards Duskwither Spire.

The road east winds upwards through the woods, passing the livery I visited just yesterday. From Silvermoon to the eastern coast, the forest is still healthy and peaceful. The natural fauna of the region - young hawkstriders and mountain cats - can still be glimpsed between the trees. Thanks to Ialore's efforts, we easily traversed the road to the crest of the hill which marks the eastern borders of Eversong forest. There, the trees growing smaller and more sparsely, the eastward view spreads out effortlessly. The road turns back down the hill, winding through a pass in the hills and leading down to the sea. After taking a break to enjoy the view, I traveled onward to Duskwither Spire.

The Spire hosts Magister Duskwither's school of magic, though it is perhaps just as well known known for its scenic location than any particular excellence in the arcane arts. However, it would be difficult for even the hardest working magister to outshine the beauty of the Azurebreeze Coast, where the green lands of Quel'Thalas reach down towards the royal blue waters of the great ocean. The Spire is situated in a cove on this coast, where the land gently meets the ocean, allowing a broad, sandy beach to form. Dismounting Ialore, I walked along its length, breathing in the salt-tinged air of the coast.

Even here, still so close to the city I could walk home before the afternoon's end, I feel as though a burden has been removed from my shoulders - left behind somewhere on the road, caught in the branches of the trees, or trapped in the cool sands underfoot. I feel ready to go farther. For now, I must content myself with the morning's travels, and continue to my next task.

It is a common belief that mages are stronger in mind than in body, and as a result must solely depend on the use of magical armors to protect themselves from physical harm. And while it is often the case that the most strenuous activity a mage will tolerate is carrying a stack of books home, this does not mean that mind and body can only grow in opposition to one another. Mages can (and should) seek to strengthen themselves in both realms, and thereby bolster their abilities doublefold; casting ability is indubitably linked to physical stamina, after all.

Nonetheless, even mages who are strong in both body and mind normally prefer to cast a spell rather than don a leather cuirass or a suit of plate mail. After all; armor is heavy, hot, expensive, and often unfashionable; a doublet of cochineal-red taffeta and gold lamé makes a better impression than a dented iron breastplate. If one can wear the former and use a spell to gain the protective capability of the latter, then why not do so?

At the very least, that is my own personal philosophy. Magical armor also has the benefits of being imbued with elemental powers; there is nothing more soothing than the aura of frost armor on a hot day, or fiery molten armor when walking through a blizzard. But having lived in the (historically) safe and temperate climate of Silvermoon city for the past few decades, I did not have need of these spells until the Scourge broke through. When that time came, I suddenly found that I could barely remember how to cast them. Now, I must practice them until I can summon these auras with the ease of an arcane missile.

Sitting on the shore, I sat and concentrated on summoning and dispersing these auras for a few hours. Even with the Sunwell's support gone, the presence of the wind and the waves seemed to power me on. When the afternoon had passed, I felt satisfied that I could once again summon any magical armor that I might need within the time it would take a brigand to draw their sword.

And finally, I set about my last task of the day: setting up a camp. First, I lay down on the ground a sheet of that marvelous new Goblin material, "rubber," which is thin, flexible, and yet entirely impervious to water. This forms the foundation upon which I unfold the metal frame of my tent. Lastly, the cloth of the tent itself attaches to this frame's corners, forming my shelter for the night.

I take great pride in the tent's construction; made of runecloth which I myself enchanted, it expels cold and heat, muffles noise, and is resilient enough to stop an arrow (a feat which I tested). The material has served me well hung around my bed at home, and I believe will function just as well on the road.

With today's progress, I feel as though the cobwebs have been shaken from my mind. I am writing, comfortable inside my tent, watching the waves roll in and crash on the shore just a short distance away. Ialore is posted to a nearby tree, and sleeping quietly by the fire after having enjoyed an extra oat cake for her efforts today. Shortly, I will retire myself, and look forward to what the morrow will bring.


	4. Quel'Thalas: The Dead Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riding from the morning, it is quite possible to cross the breadth of Quel'Thalas in a day.

4 Days  
Azurebreeze Coast

I was vaguely perplexed upon waking, noting that my bedroom had seemingly grown much smaller during the night. It took a moment for me to make sense of the situation, as the fact that I was sleeping in a tent, and not my bedroom, slowly resurfaced in my half-conscious mind. I rolled over and threw about the blankets in a half-hearted attempt to get up, but as usual, gave myself another five minutes which turned into a half-hour.

Finally rising, I sat up from my cot and undid the flap to the world outside. Despite recalling that I would see the fair blue waves rolling into the shore, it was still a surprise when the actual sight presented itself before my eyes. One grows used to seeing the same morning scenery: breakfast plates, plastered walls, hanging drapes - it can be shock to behold something so broad, untamed, and beautiful as the ocean upon waking first thing in the morning. Invigorating, yes, but also a shock.

Standing om the shore, I held my flask and began summoning some water to wet my throat. Having done it so many times, I paid little attention to the process as I channeled through my hands, feeling the weight of the container grow while I cast until it was full. But, after taking a sip, I spat it out; the flask was full of salt-water!

Spitting again to get the taste out of my mouth, I turned from the ocean and walked a few paces back towards the land. I was glad no apprentices were there; they would have had quite the laugh at a magister letting his mind wander enough to summon salt water instead of fresh. Thinking of lakes and fresh dew upon leaves, I tried once more, and took another (cautious) sip out of my flask. It was cold, clean, and had no hint of salt. Nodding, I also poured some in a dish for Ialore to drink; she looked more wakeful than myself, as she preened her feathers and glanced at me with an inpatient air.

Giving in, I began to make a serious start to the day, changing my clothes and brushing my hair before beginning to break down camp, folding down the tent and shaking the sand off the groundsheet. Before long, I mounted Ialore and we headed west, up the road away from the Azurebreeze coast. The leagues proceeded much as they had the day previous, though it was doubtless easier for Ialore as we mainly proceeded downhill as we returned the way we had came, eventually passing by the Shepard's Gate and proceeding on.

Traveling west from there, it is not long before one is confronted by the Dead Scar. It appears in sight as an unsettling ribbon of black upon an otherwise verdant land, a clearing where no trees grow, not even bushes, grass, or the smallest lichen. The scar is a path of death struck into the flesh of the land itself, showing where the curse of undeath turned it to dust and ash. Even the road is broken where it runs through the scar, yet there is currently no other way to proceed; the Scar bisects the entire realm of Quel'Thalas, from Silvermoon to Deathholme, the mark of our civilization's greatest tragedy, and its greatest failing.

The feeling of unease grows as one treads nearer to the Scar. The air itself seems to grow chill, and the sun's rays fall less warmly across one's shoulders. Before crossing, I dismounted Ialore and held her reins in my hand. Carefully, I led her forward across what remained of the path across the Scar. The loose stones shifted under our feet, resting unsteadily on the ash below. I swore that I could feel their cold through the soles of my boots, and Ialore cawed behind me. I shushed her, and we walked on. I tried my best to ignore the bleached bones sticking here and there out of the ground, not knowing if they had belonged to elf, human, or troll.

Here, so close to the city, the Farstriders have cleared the Scar of any undead large enough to do serious harm. Nevertheless, when a skull on the ground began clicking its jaw at me, some final evil instinct honing it on towards its singular purpose, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest as I focused a burst of energy on it. It was seared away in a flash of light, but unsettled, I walked on faster to the other side, my heart only slowing when I put my feet back on the living green grass. The Dead Scar is only perhaps forty yards across, and crossing it took only a minute or two. And yet, the memory of it lingers on. Back on the road, I remounted Ialore and we continued on.

Immediately west of the Scar, there is little of interest to see from the road other than the forest itself. There are the Northern and Western Sancta, which still exert a small degree of control over the leylines which still flow under the land, though compared to the former Sunwell their powers are minuscule. Farther, the road passes over a northern branch of the Elrendar River as it winds its way towards the sea. The next landmark of note is Fairbreeze Village, which still stands proudly among the tall trees, more active as of late than in days past, when it mainly served as an escape from the city for the well-to-do. I will return there in a few days when I join the Farstriders to ride south.

For the moment, I ride past the village, continuing towards the western shores of Quel'Thalas. Thinking again on the well-to-do, the country estate of Lord Saltheril lies along the road. Judging from the activity I could see among the ground surrounding his home, it seems that he is currently enjoying the pleasures of the countryside. Though we have not spoken in a while, I expect his Lordship might be kind enough to offer me dinner if I were to return later.

Following the road as it runs in tandem with the Elrendar, glimpses of water through the trees hint at what lies ahead. As the view opens out once again, the soaring curves of the building at the heart of Sunsail Anchorage show themselves, mirroring the masts of the ships in its harbor, borne for ports near and far. Here, the road reaches its westernmost point, but continuing on on foot through the forest, it is not long before one reaches the Golden Strand - the western shores of Quel'Thalas. Unfortunately, unpleasant creatures known as 'Murlocs' have begun taking root on the beaches, and it is possible that staying the night here would not be safe.

Nonetheless, I did not observe any of the distasteful creatures in my immediate vicinity, and I dismounted Ialore and sat on the sand. Raising my hand to block out the sun, I gauged my speed by how far across the sky it had traveled. Though it was now well on its way towards the horizon, I still felt as though I had achieved victory, having beaten it from one shore of Quel'Thalas to the other. I retrieved some more food - for myself, and Ialore - from my bag, and we enjoyed a rest as the rays of the sun glittered over the peaks of the sea.


	5. Quel'Thalas: Saltheril's Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pleasant company is the most important ingredient one needs to host an enjoyable gathering.

4 Days  
Saltheril's Haven

After the sun had made its way down the sky to meet with the horizon, I turned, mounted Ialore, and made my way back towards Lord Saltheril's estate. As I approached it, I was startled to see brilliant bursts of scarlet flame blossom suddenly above the trees, set against the hues of the twilight sky. They were followed quickly by a great crack of thunder, and a far-off chorus of cheers. It seemed to me that I had underestimated the scale of the event planned for the estate for that evening.

Reining up as I entered the grounds, I beheld the estate: a tidy, elegant villa, set next to a great outdoor plaza filled with tables, benches, and banners - practically an outdoor living room, ready to hold any amount of guests for an evening (or several) of merriment. And indeed, a number of guests other than myself had appeared to take advantage of Lord Saltheril's generosity (if you were being charitable) or extravagance (if you were not). Fortunately, none of the other Magisters appeared to among the guests, as there were few of them I would have wished to encounter that night. It looked to be a mix of idle nobles and their hangers-on, though with a few unfamiliar - and possibly even common - folk among the crowds of those eating, dancing, and talking - identifiable here and there by their more practical haircuts and simpler clothes.

Another firework screamed up into the sky and burst into a thousand golden lights, which drifted slowly back to the ground to more cheers. Ialore cawed at the noise, and I shushed her, giving her a calming pat on one side. Such a grand celebration hardly seemed suited to the era we now find ourselves in, with so much else to do: reclaiming our lands from the undead, finding a way to ease our need for magic, repairing the cities and towns themselves. Though such merriment was far from uncommon in the past, in current days it could hardly be an efficient use of resources to craft fireworks for a party.

It was then that Lord Saltheril came up to me, presumably having noted Ialore's caw at the edge of the grounds.

"Ah, Magister Aelissar, is that you? To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he greeted me boisterously.

"Lord Saltheril, the pleasure is mine. I was crossing the countryside today and was thinking I might beg a meal of you - though I think even your famous hospitality might already be taxed to capacity tonight."

"What - with these few pests?" he asked, and then laughed, the scent of spirits carrying on his breath. "Hardly. Stay and enjoy yourself, I insist. It's the least I can do in these times. We must all play to our own strengths, and I believe creating merriment remains mine."

"Just as you say, my Lord," I responded neutrally. "I must admit, the scent of that food on the air is quite appetizing."

"That's the spirit! Please, go and eat your fill. I need another drink myself, I believe. Oh - and there will be roast boar later. Followed by - and this is supposed to be a secret - some splendid chocolate confection my darling wife ordered. Yes, that's tonight. Yes, I will see you later, Magister."

I bowed my head as he tottered off, and tied up Ialore before heading into the garden. Keeping to myself, I avoided inquiring gazes as I filled a plate with the food I found most appealing. It was, I supposed, one of my last chances to enjoy the delicacies of home before leaving them behind.

There were whispers I heard from time to time, and glances which turned away from me quickly as I met them. I could imagine what snippets of conversation followed. _Isn't that the Magister going into exile? Didn't he call the Lord Regent a fool? What's he doing here?_

"Tarvus," a clear, cold voice rang out from above the noise. "That is you, isn't it?" My chest constricted as I recognized the voice.

"Yes, Alissindra," I replied, turning to face her. Her mouth was drawn taut under her expertly coiffed blaze of hair, strands of which trailed down to the collar of her lace and taffeta evening gown. Her resemblance to her brother was slight, but it still made my heart twinge to see even a thin reflection of his face. "I haven't seen you since... before the Sundering, I suppose."

She huffed. "Is that your way of saying I didn't come to that foolish funeral you held for Dareon? Well, I don't consider it proper to mourn for those who aren't dead. And what's this I hear about you leaving on an expedition? You must finally be going to look for him, I suppose."

I clenched my jaw, and shook my head. "He's gone, Alissindra. Nothing can bring him back from... what he's been turned into."

"And how do you know that?" she seethed. "How, oh great Magister? Did you create the plague? The Lich King told you of all its arcane and alchemical workings? No, I think not. You're just a coward who betrayed my brother's love.

"Even as useless a creature as I am-" here, she leaned in, hissing, "-I would sail to Northrend myself after him, if it were not for my own children. I never knew what he saw in you, you upjumped son of a whore."

There are times in which every instinct in our limbs urges us to strike out. However, we must restrain ourselves and let these moments pass, or we are no better than base animals. I took a breath, and unclenched my jaw.

"And I never understood how someone as wonderful as him could be related to as poisonous a creature as you. Goodbye, Alissindra."

I turned my back and walked away from her, summoning a thin barrier as I went. A goblet pinged off it a second later, clattering to the ground and splashing its contents on a bystander who yelped in protest. I returned to Ialore, mounted, and rode east back to Fairbreeze village, a spark of summoned light lifting the cover of darkness in front of us.

Later, I sat on a divan in my room at the village's inn, hardly aware of the steps I had taken to get there. My mind was racing, playing back my memories of the day Dareon had left to go south with the Ranger-General. His step out the door, and into the crowd, again and again. My stomach churned, and reaching into my bag with a shaking hand, I pulled out a mana crystal and cracked it in two. I exhaled as its energy flowed down my arms, refilling some of the emptiness which had always been present since we had sundered the Sunwell. Suddenly exhausted, I leaned back onto the divan, and must have fallen asleep on it shortly thereafter.


	6. The Ghostlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After anticipating it so long, when the first day of a journey arrives it can be a relief.

3 Days  
Fairbreeze Village

On some mornings, waking comes easily: we open our eyes to find the world blessed with the rays of the morning sun, lending it a warmth and brightness which lightens our bodies as we rise. The sun shines golden through curtains of cloud, and in juncture with the lingering coolness of the night and the traces of dreams evaporating from the mind, allows us to behold an innocent and fleeting beauty before we must attend to the needs of the day.

On other mornings, we are not so lucky. The sun rises as a cruel master, forcing his rays through the insufficient cover of our eyelids, and pressing his presence into the realm of our dreams. 'Rise!,' he shouts, 'rise! You cannot hide from me, who sees all and knows all. You cannot run from me, whose radiance gives you light and life. You cannot exist without me, or surely you would freeze and fall to dust in the darkness of eternal night. So rise, and get about your business!' And, try as we might to ignore his commands which issue through the gap in the curtains or around the edges of the drapes, eventually we must all give in, putting aside the sweet, cool draught of night and rest. We must rise, and find that the secrets we told in confidence the previous night are already known to half the realm. We must rise and have the daylight point out to us another wrinkle in our faces, another hair losing its color, another torn cuff and dangling thread. We must rise and sigh, yawn, stretch, and think about when we can sneak a nap into the afternoon's schedule.

Most of my mornings seem to fall into the latter category, but on this day it was particularly so. I had breakfast delivered to my room, and dithered about it to distract myself from thinking on what had transpired the previous night. I have certain memories which I find make me ill to think upon; I must step around them or I feel they could consume me. I believe all of us who lived through the Sundering carry such things, yet nobody dares to speak of them. Maybe the truth is that I am a coward, running away from problems I cannot face, my journey's purpose of finding a way to ease our peoples' need for mana a fragile pretense. Perhaps it is so, but I know that if I remain here, I will not be able to help anyone, not even myself.

Day of Departure

Knowing that today was the day in which I was to leave the realm of the familiar behind, I rose early to be sure that I would be fully prepared to meet Ranger Vedoran and the other Farstriders with whom I am currently travelling. Eating a simple meal at the inn, I thanked the hostess for her hospitality and went to saddle Ialore. After double-checking my supplies in the pack, I then waited in the village square.

Ranger Vedoran arrived shortly thereafter, accompanied by his comrades Elisthinel, Mahras, and Partivar.

"I presume you are the Magister who requested to ride with us to the Plaguelands. Aelissar, is it not?"

"Yes. Captain Vedoran, I presume?"

He nodded. "Before we are off, let me be clear with you: we will not act as your servants during this expedition. We will keep you out of harm's way, and that is all. Is this understood?"

"Yes, Ranger Captain," I accepted. "It is not my goal to be a burden to you and your comrades. In fact, I might be so bold as to claim that I may instead be of some use to you during our time together."

"How very noble of you," he replied with only a tinge of sarcasm. "Are you ready to be off?"

I answered by way of mounting Ialore and nodding. Reining up, we began down the southern road out of the village which stretches down through Quel'Thalas, through the Ghostlands and all the way to the Thalassian Pass. The rangers not-so-subtly maneuvered me into riding in the center of their formation, hardly sparing me a look as we went. Given the long-standing stereotypes of Farstriders as elves too thick-skulled to make sense of the arcane, their enmity against a Magister was not unexpected.

Evidence of the challenging journey ahead of me lay just outside the barricades protecting Fairbreeze Village. Undead siege machines still litter the side of the road, their wheels broken and jagged metal rams rusting under the open sky. 'Meat wagons,' this particular type of vehicle was called. I do not wish to describe their purpose in more detail. 

Sadly, the journey's mood did not lighten as we went farther south. The road there was still in good condition, but ran parallel to the Dead Scar. I watched it pass uneasily on my left. Here and there, I glimpsed the movement of some lesser undead creatures wandering its length, still obedient to a command left to bind them months ago.

After a few leagues, the road turns and runs across the scar, its surface again broken and uneven. We dismounted, and the Captain and Mahras unsheathed their swords, while Elisthinel and Partivar brought their bows to hand.

"Watch yourself, Magister," Captain Vedoran warned me. "This is where troubles can begin."

His warning was proven right when a group of three shambling creatures rooting around in the black, lifeless dirt lifted their heads, and a moment later charged after us. Two were quickly downed by the archers, and the Captain made short work of the third with his cutlass. The creatures' bones rattled to the ground, the power that had held them together dissipating at long last. I found myself simultaneously relieved and disappointed that the Rangers had no need of my assistance. We continued on, and arrived at the shore of the Elrendar river shortly thereafter.

A new wooden bridge crosses over the river, replacing the one which the Ranger-General burned to slow the Scourge invasion. Across its span, the wounds which the land of Quel'Thalas sustained in that assault grow more visible than they were in the North. South of the river, the Scourge had time to linger, their necromancers spreading disease and siphoning the life from all that surrounded them. Their labors are proving hard to undo; the ground is darker, the grass shriveled, and what flowers remain droop towards the earth. Some trees still cling to life, their patchy foliage thin and dry. Mushrooms and mosses have taken over in this season of rot, and feast on the bounty of dead matter provided for them. For this reason, the realm south of the Elrendar is now referred to as the 'Ghostlands.'

We crossed into the Ghostlands during the last hours of the morning, and arrived in the village of Tranquilien just after the sun crested the sky. Tranquilien lies in the center of the Ghostlands, a shell of the town which it used to be. Buildings lie in disrepair, with damaged furniture and discarded belongings thrown out on the streets. The buildings remaining in good condition have been cleared out, repurposed into barracks and command centers. Here and there, faded, patchy banners still hang on walls, rippling uneasily in gusts of wind which rise and fall now and then.

Stopping at the town's makeshift inn, we had a simple lunch of fowl roasted with mustard seed and served with bread. I spared some of my magic to heat a kettle of water, and made rosehip tea for myself and the Farstriders. They seemed genuinely grateful for it, and I felt that the hot beverage might have finally begun to 'melt through' their 'icy' attitude towards me.

After giving our beasts time enough to have their water and fodder, we remounted and continued on. It was only passing out of Tranquilien that I saw him - a Forsaken, one of those rare undead who have broken from the Lich King's command and once again follow their own will, whatever that may be. He stood by the side of the road, his back crooked and arm hanging askew. What remained of his face was gaunt and discolored, and he had no jaw at all. But unlike common undead, below his brows were two points of light - his eyes, shining yellow with some sort of inner light - which pierced through all else. As he noticed me staring at him, those eyes peered back into mine, and I had no doubt that there was some form of a living man who remains in that body, looking back out at me. He raised an arm and waved at me as I rode past, and then was behind me. I shuddered. 

"First time seeing one?" Mahras asked from my left. I nodded, as my throat felt too tight to make useful speech.

"You'll get used to them. It takes a while, though."

An hour later, we approached a fork in the road. It was one familiar to me: to its right is the way to Windrunner Village, where my mother and I would stay in summers long past. I have not been there in many a year, and now it lies overrun by the Scourge. I doubt that I will ever see it again as it is in my thoughts.

But instead, we took the left fork towards the Sanctum of the Sun, and I left my memories by the side of the road with the rest of the broken things. Our journey to the Sanctum concluded without further incident, and we were safely inside its walls before the sun set. One feels many more pairs of hungry eyes staring at the back of one's neck in the Ghostlands than in Eversong Forest, and I am glad to have thick walls and the hum of magic around me before now that the night has settled in. We unrolled our beds where there is space on the Sanctum's floor, and I made another kettle of tea with dinner, a beef stew over rice and vegetables.

"We made good time today," Captain Vedoran commented as we ate. Coming from where we started in the morning, I took this morsel as high praise, and agreed.

"That should give us some extra time tomorrow. Near the pass is where it gets ugly," he added.

The rest of the Rangers nodded at this.

"We're just escorting you to Light's Hope, yes? Will you be alright on your own after that?" Mahras asked me.

"I was at the Sundering," I told him calmly. "I'll be able to find my own way to Lordaeron from there."

They were silent in response to this and I paused, taking a sip of tea. "Unless you'd like to be my bodyguard?" I asked him.

He blushed, and looked at the Captain, who scowled at him. "I don't think that would be possible," Mahras sighed. Elisthinel laughed quietly to herself.

With the light gone and an early morning ahead of us, we retired to our beds. I will still lie awake for a while yet, finishing my notes for the day.


	7. Thalassian Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There always comes a time when we must leave the familiar behind.

1 Day Out  
The Ghostlands

There is a comfort in routines, in knowing that there exists a series of patterns which allows us to solve the problems which lie before us each day. We need not worry endlessly of where we might find food, water, and shelter. Instead, we cycle through a known set of meals, drinks, and rooms, and can turn our minds (and anxieties) to other problems: our crafts, our relationships, our aspirations and failures.

While considering the latter (which only increase in number with time), we can find ourselves wondering where our faults may lie. Have we lost our mental acuity for the arcane? Have we become boring, old-fashioned, repeating the same worn stories time and time again? Have we lost sight of what we want most in life?

Perhaps part of the blame we may lay at the feet of routine. After eating the same meals and wandering the same halls so many times, it is possible for our minds to fall too far into the shape of these things. Our eyes can become tired at looking at the same scenes repeated in time, and may forget how to wake when something bright and new enters their presence.

So, we must eventually leave behind the comfortable bedrooms, familiar restaurants, and even the very trees and landscapes to which we are accustomed. We must assault ourselves with the terribly basic problems of staying alive, and shatter the shape of the life in which we've settled. It is only once we do this that we find new approaches, new thoughts, and new memories forming in our minds. This, at least, is the hypothesis which I cling to now that I am entering the Plaguelands, far from any home or comfort I have known.

This morning, Mahras woke me, shaking me gently (by his standards, I am sure) on the shoulder. The Farstriders had already been awake for some time, and would soon be ready to depart. I, by contrast, needed their prodding to wake on time, and a further scowl from the Captain to get moving. But soon thereafter, we were back on our Hawkstriders and on the road south once again.

The Sanctum of the Sun fell quickly behind us, its silhouette quickly disappearing into the foothills which surround the lofty heights of Sungraze Peak. Thin sunlight made its way through the clouds overhead, slowly clearing the fog which hung low to the ground. There was still a chill in the air, and I drew my cloak tighter around my shoulders.

After some time, the road began to slope upwards, and we had to slow our pace. But our beasts made steady progress nonetheless, egging each other on as Hawkstriders are occasionally wont to do. We paused as the road finally leveled off once more, and looked behind us.

All of the Ghostlands lay beneath us, save for the spear of Sungraze Peak which jutted up into the sky. Having known what these lands once were - green, vibrant, equal in beauty to the forests which still grow north of the Elrendar in Eversong - to behold them now is painful. One can imagine when riding along the road that the damage is localized to certain areas of the forest, that beyond the rotting trunks and barren soil lies a hidden copse of trees which lies untouched, a seed which will expand and restore the solemn beauty this realm once had. But, seeing all from above, one can no longer cling to this dream.

The entire forest is diseased. Everywhere, the trees lie dead or dying. The shadowy towers of Deatholme loom just in sight to the west, reminding us that the Scourge are still here in force, plotting behind the gates of the necropolis which they built in our very homeland, awaiting commands to continue their assault. I quietly considered the notion that the only option to save this land is to burn it all to the very ground, and sow the ashes with seeds.

I turned from the sight without a word, and looked back southward, to the pass. Soon, the Farstriders turned away as well, and we continued on.

Thalassian Pass lay just over a half hour's ride from where we had stopped. The towering, arched gates which guard the only road into Quel'Thalas have been little repaired since their failure to stop the Scourge's advance, and much evidence of the battle remains. Here, too, Scourge vehicles and rusting weapons can be found littering the landscape, a rotting scrap of linen or links of chainmail easily turned up in the dirt. We moved through the gates quickly, quietly acknowledging the few sentries posted to watch over this grim site.

And, with that, we left Quel'Thalas behind; the only land which I have truly known in all my days. Even brought low and shattered, it was still my home. In front of me now lie the Plaguelands, and a vast unknown. I head towards it.


End file.
